


fluttering

by LoversAntiquities



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Domestic, Established Relationship, Gen, M/M, Post-Season/Series Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:42:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23584798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoversAntiquities/pseuds/LoversAntiquities
Summary: Castiel aches.Not spiritually, but down to the bone, an ache that no amount of Grace or back massages can heal. Weary from the road and the sun beating down at all hours, from taking the shovel when Dean’s hands began to bleed, from keeping watch. All of it weighs Castiel down, his limbs heavier when he remains idle, either sitting or tagging along. Splinters prick at his fingertips; his wings sag, dragging through mud and grass and desert sand.The minute they arrive home, the worst of the road at their backs, Castiel retreats.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 12
Kudos: 204





	fluttering

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the art by [lizleeships](https://lizleeships.tumblr.com/post/612713234878939136/birdbath-of-the-lord-shrug-i).

Castiel aches.

Not spiritually, but down to the bone, an ache that no amount of Grace or back massages can heal. Weary from the road and the sun beating down at all hours, from taking the shovel when Dean’s hands began to bleed, from keeping watch. All of it weighs Castiel down, his limbs heavier when he remains idle, either sitting or tagging along. Splinters prick at his fingertips; his wings sag, dragging through mud and grass and desert sand.

The minute they arrive home, the worst of the road at their backs, Castiel retreats. Hides away, far from where Dean and Sam have traveled within the confines of their home, down narrow corridors painted drab and gray.

Castiel found the room one night, long after everyone fell asleep either in their respective rooms or armchairs, wherever their head happened to land. A bathroom, with white ceramic tile laid across the floor and halfway up the wall, and gray wallpaper, leaving the room darker than intended. The window, though, Castiel loves the most. The only room in the bunker with a window, and Castiel claims it as his own, uses it as his sanctuary when he needs solitude.

Before he found it, the tub had never been used. Dust covered every inch of it, and the pipes ran red with rust for several minutes, staining the porcelain. Bleach worked to wipe the worst of it away. Now, it shines in the late afternoon sun, an invitation.

Gradually, Castiel undresses while the tub fills, steam wafting off the warm water’s surface. He opens the window and lets in the breeze, dry but beginning to cool, the last of the sun fading. Once he slips off his socks, he allows his wings to pour free, feathers gliding across the floor. A shiver runs down his spine, winding its way through his body, all the way to his toes. Keeping them hidden hurts some days, mostly when he can’t stretch out, namely in the back of Dean’s car.

Days like this, Castiel lets them out and settles into the tub, water sluicing through the feathers and easing the tension between his shoulders. Silence follows, accompanied by the occasional drip of the faucet, the breeze rushing through the scattered trees in town.

Castiel tunes out the rest of the world. Dean is probably looking for him, but Dean doesn’t need him right now. They all have their own routines: Dean showers and fixes dinner, depending on what time of night they arrive home, and Sam makes the phone calls he needs to before changing his clothes and relaxing in the first armchair he can find. Castiel either wanders the halls or stays in his room—or, on afternoons like this, Castiel rests, surrounded by water and the pleasant noises of nature, or sometimes, nothing at all.

His Grace keeps the water warm. The feathers of his right wing rest partially in the tub, while his left hangs limp on the other side, cooling against the tile. Water drips; footsteps creep closer, muffled by fabric and a door. Said door slides open with barely a whisper, then clicks shut.

Castiel doesn’t open his eyes. Doesn’t have to, to know just who’s there. “Need to put a LoJack on you,” Dean says, treading closer. He kneels at the side of the tub, then sits, hanging an arm over into the water. Beneath the surface, Castiel touches his hand, dovetailing their fingers. “Thought you left, but I didn't see a car missing.”

“Needed some quiet,” Castiel murmurs. He wraps his wing around Dean, pillowing it in his lap. “I’m trying to forget today.”

Dean hums in agreement, squeezing Castiel’s hand. Castiel feels the calluses on his fingertips, and the faint pinpricks where at some point, Dean plucked splinters free. “Wish I could too,” Dean says, leaning against the side of the tub. “Starting to think it’s not worth it, at our age. Last time I dug up a grave, I couldn't move for days. And that’s not just because I got thrown around before we could torch the bones.”

Castiel sighs through his nose. Outside, a bird lands on the windowsill, soundless except for its wingbeats. “You are getting older,” he says, opening an eye. “You have crow’s feet now.”

“Speak for yourself,” Dean huffs. He pulls his hand free, only to tap Castiel’s nose with a wet finger. “What’re you going on, a million and some?”

“Funny,” Castiel says. It is, objectively, but he won’t let Dean have the satisfaction. “You could retire, you know. Both of you. There are hunters that could take on the load.”

Dean rests his cheek against warmed porcelain, lip between his teeth. “Don’t know what else there is to do, Cas,” he sighs. “Feel like we’re just… going through the motions. If it’s not monsters, then it’s angels or demons, or God. Do you think we’ll ever catch a break?”

Honestly, Castiel doesn’t know. Doesn’t know if he ever will, given the state of the world. God is out of the picture, and the world—supposedly—is right on its axis again. But for how much longer? Dean is on the better side of forty, and Sam is slowly gaining. One day, they’ll wake up with aches that won’t let them leave the bed, and Castiel will be there with them, with a sliver of Grace and a soul growing in its place. They’ll grow old here, and they’ll die here if they don’t do something.

Castiel craves the sunlight. Craves the chill of the night wafting in through open windows, the sound of rain pinging off shingles, none of which he’ll ever hear in Lebanon. And he knows deep in his heart, that Dean feels the same. “I don’t know,” Castiel says. Sitting up, he runs his hands through his hair, the strands standing on end. His wings strain; Dean pets the one in his lap, raking through the feathers. “What if we left here?”

Dean lifts a brow. “But we just got back.”

“No, no.” Stretching his other wing, Castiel rotates his neck from side to side, then his shoulders. “For a week, maybe two. But yes, eventually, I’d like to leave. Maybe buy a house, if we can afford it, or happen upon a large sum of money if we can’t. This isn’t the life we should be living, Dean.”

A slow, pained sigh. Castiel pets Dean’s nape, then trails up the back of his head, mussing up his hair. “I like it here,” Dean says, sounding like a lie. “It’s free, for one. First place I’ve ever lived where I had my own space.”

“You can still have that elsewhere,” Castiel suggests. “It doesn’t have to be now, but… think about it.”

“Trust me, I’ve thought about it,” Dean sighs. Cupping Dean’s cheek, Dean falls into him, eyelids fluttering shut. “Never stop thinking about it. But that’s not our life, and I don’t think it’ll ever be. Used to, I thought I’d get a house with a white picket fence, maybe a cat, but… Can you see me living in the suburbs? Wine and book club with all the moms on the block?”

Castiel chuckles, thumbing under Dean’s eye. “You’d fit in. But you only have to let yourself.”

“Sounds corny,” Dean says. A smile creeps over his lips, and Castiel has half the mind to kiss it off him. “Think Sam could hack into some offshore accounts and buy us a house on the beach?”

“He probably could.” Leaning forward, Castiel leaves a kiss to the corner of Dean’s lips, earning a shy smile. “I’m imagining you in a turtleneck.”

Dean snorts and pats Castiel’s wing. “I’m not the only one fantasizing, then.”

Another kiss, this one to Dean’s lips. “We could get a bigger tub. One we could actually fit in together.”

“You offering?” Dean lifts a brow.

And Castiel extends a hand. “If you’re willing.”

Dean smiles—and Castiel could never look away. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! If you've been following my twitter, you'll know I've been plugging away on my book for the last few months, and I broke 40k after I wrote this today! In the meantime, I'm looking to write short little fics just because I haven't in so long, so if y'all have any ideas, throw them my way! I saw this art this morning and it hit all my favorite things, so here y'all go!
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://tragidean.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/loversantiquity).


End file.
